


A Masterpiece of an Understatement

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Bringing Up Baby (1938)
Genre: #fsromcom, 1930s Hollywood Style Banter, Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie - Freeform, Billy Koenig - Freeform, Brainy Awkward Scientist Leo Fitz, Bringing Up Baby AU, F/M, Fitz in a Pink Fluffy Robe, Holden Radcliffe - Freeform, Just Like in the Ol' Grant and Hepburn Flick, Lance HUnter - Freeform, Melinda May - Freeform, Romantic Comedy, Sam Koenig - Freeform, Scene Changes Without Explicit Explanations, Simmons With No Chill, Socialite Scientist Jemma Simmons, Temporary Fitz/Callie, phil coulson - Freeform, screwball comedy, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trying to secure a $25 million SHIELD HQ grant for Radcliffe Labs on the eve of his wedding, befuddled Dr. Leopold Fitz is swept up into the escapades of Dr. Dr. Jemma Simmons and her newly acquired leopard, Baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The nice thing about a screwball comedy is just how screwy it can be. I left the decade and the time period vague. Hopefully you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 to dilkirani, as always, for the beta!

  


 

_“You’ve just had a bad day, that’s all.”_   
_“That’s a masterpiece of an understatement.”_   
_(Bringing Up Baby)_   


 

“Doctor! You really shouldn’t climb up that high. You know how unpredictable your vertigo can be.” The young lab assistant grimaced as the ladder creaked and swayed under Dr. Leopold Fitz’s weight, and for a brief moment he almost agreed with her. “There wouldn’t be a need for you to get that close to the ceiling if you would only finish your work on the drones.”

She frowned up at him behind her wire-framed glasses. Her dark brown hair was pulled tight in a low bun, not a hair out of place. Looking down at her from such a great height, Fitz had the distinct impression of a headmistress from a turn-of-the-century novel.

“The DWARFs aren’t responding to certain biometrics, and I haven’t figured out how to fix them yet. Besides, George deserves the very best.” He gave the robotic Brontosaurus a loving pat before adjusting his black framed glasses. “And Callie, how many times must I tell you—seeing as we’re to be married tomorrow, you can drop the formalities and call me Fitz.”

“Our personal relationship has no place at Radcliffe Labs, _Doctor_. And I most certainly will not call my husband by his last name. That’s preposterous. Your mother named you Leopold, so that’s what I shall call you—at home, of course.” He swallowed a groan, struggling to hide his distaste for the name. “More to the point, science must always come _first_ , and our marriage must come _second_. The two paths shall never cross.” She punctuated her remark with a sharp nod of her head.

“But what about our children?” Fitz felt even more bewildered, shouting from the top of a ladder about his future progeny.

“Oh, there won’t be any children.”

“There won’t be?” He was certain they’d discussed children… He’d always wanted to be a father. Isn’t that something a man discusses with his bride-to-be?

“No. George will be our child! Along with Happy, Dopey, Sneezy, and the other four drones once they’re complete. Your inventions will be our children! Oh, we’ll live a wonderful life together, Dr. Fitz.” It sounded more like a stern order than a wishful daydream.

“Yes, dear.” The ladder wobbled once more and he quickly scurried down the metal steps, wanting his feet back on solid ground just as the lab doors swooshed open.

“Oh, fantastic! I’m so glad you’re here!” Dr. Holden Radcliffe thundered into the lab with such gusto that Fitz placed a cautious hand on George’s nearest appendage, as if afraid the thirty-foot robotic dinosaur would topple over with one hard step on the linoleum. Radcliffe had a tendency to leave a trail of destruction rather like a tornado, and after years of working for the man, Fitz found it easier to just stand still and observe until the storm passed.

“I have some very interesting news. SHIELD HQ is announcing the winner of their annual grant on Monday, but there’s a rumor absolutely _zero_ of the applicants are quite what the board want. They’re looking for new technology, something innovative and fresh. Something—” Radcliffe gestured vaguely up at the shiny metal-plated dinosaur, pulled up short and frowned before snapping his fingers. “Something like those drones of yours. Or maybe even that rodent-what’s-it.”

“Mouse-hole.” Fitz supplied, somewhat petulantly.

“Mouse-hole! Yes! Brilliant.” Radcliffe shoved a hand in his trouser pocket as he sauntered around the lab. “Of course it couldn’t hurt that the head of SHIELD HQ was so taken with the prototype of that car you designed, they just _had_ to have it. Absolutely adores it. The Vroom-Room, isn’t it? We really need to work on that name.”

Fitz repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He happened to think the Vroom-Room was rather an ingenious name—a room on wheels, what else _should_ he even call it? There were only two copies of it in existence. One was parked under his name plaque in the lot outside, and the other was in the care of SHIELD HQ. Giving over a prototype to such a huge corporation wasn’t standard practice, but Fitz wasn’t about to argue with Radcliffe or anyone else. No doubt, once the prototype received proper funding, they would need to change the name for a better market appeal, but as it stood, his little electronic car would always be the Vroom-Room to him.

He shook his head, realizing he’d spaced out and Radcliffe was still speaking.

“Anyway, I made a few calls and found that the program director is going to be at the Playground at 9:30 for her weekly Arnis training. Fascinating practice. They use sticks, sometimes even knives, although knives are unlikely in such a controlled environment as a training gym.” He didn’t notice Fitz wince at the thought before he continued on. “Nevertheless, she must be quite good, since they call her The Cavalry. Makes you wonder how a paper-pusher got such a moniker, though ‘eh?”

Radcliffe danced his index finger over the different levers and buttons on the various lab equipment. “She’s only in town for forty-eight hours and it took quite a bit to convince her to meet during her training. I told her you’d be more than willing to serve as her sparring partner.”

“You _what_?” The blood drained from Fitz’s face. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. Perhaps I can meet her after. Or another time, altogether.” Grant money or no grant money, the thought of being charged at repeatedly by someone nicknamed _The Cavalry_ was low on his to-do list.

“But Dr. Fitz,” Callie spoke up with as much emotion as he’d ever heard from her. “The grant is worth 25 _million_ dollars. Think of all the advancements you can make on George! And you could finally solve those biometric issues with the DWARFs! Why this could be the break we’ve been waiting for—”

“What about my vertigo!”

“Oh you haven’t had an episode in months.” She dismissed him with the flutter of a hand and Fitz turned to her, his eyes wide in disbelief, before casting a long look back up the ladder.

“The Cavalry’s expecting you in twenty minutes,” Radcliffe added, slapping Fitz on the back with a force that sent him staggering forward. “No time like the present.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Fitz wheezed indelicately from his spot on the gym floor, now fully aware of just _how_ Melinda May had earned her nickname.

“Exercise not your thing?” May leaned over him, her face finally coming into focus after a few hard blinks. He took her offered hand.

“I like exercise just fine.” Fitz winced as she pulled him to his feet in one quick motion. “But I’m more of a long stroll on a computer-simulated beach kind of guy.”

“I thought that about you.” He caught what looked like a flicker of a smile on her face before it disappeared.

“But—” Fitz started, seizing the moment now that his lungs weren’t trying to escape his body. “But that isn’t to say I don’t see the benefits of vigorous exercise. In fact, I find similar benefits in designing the mechanics of—”

He stopped when May shot him a look. “Are you comparing me to a robot?”

“No!”

Momentarily flustered, he dropped his baton and it rolled off the mat before stopping at the feet of a pretty brunette. The young woman quickly snatched it up and made her way to an adjacent sparring mat.

“Excuse me.” He took after her. “Hey! That’s, um, that’s mine.”

The woman turned and he was startled by the sweet honey color of her eyes and the freckles along the tops of her rosy cheeks. He’d never quite seen anyone as beautiful—then he remembered his fiancée and stopped all such thoughts.

“Yes?” She raised an eyebrow and leveled him with a sharp look.

“That’s mine.” Absurdly, he felt two inches tall.

“What’s yours?” She had yet to relax her eyebrow and Fitz was beginning to think what she held in beauty, she lacked in common sense…

“That.” He pointed to her hands.

“Oh, I don’t think so. It doesn’t belong to anyone. I found it on the floor.” Her tone paired with her soft English accent was so factual it left little room for argument. He found it infuriating.

“Because I dropped it.”

“No, I don’t think that’s true.” She tapped a slender index finger along the cupid’s bow of her lips. “I didn’t see anyone drop it.”

“This isn’t quantum superposition, is it? That stick can’t be both yours _and_ mine. Just because you didn’t see me drop it doesn’t make it any less mine.” Fitz was certain his accent was growing thick with agitation.

“Oh, you’re one of those types,” she drawled, with a knowing roll of her eyes. His annoyance increased exponentially. When he was younger, he’d been mocked and ridiculed for being a little too quiet and a little too smart. He’d learned to live on the outside, to find comfort in things he could catalog or build. It wasn’t until he found his place at Radcliffe Labs and met Callie that he felt… Well, not quite happy, but _settled._

But this brown-eyed baton stealer, with her sharp tongue and confusing conversation tactics, was leaving him decidedly _less_ _than_ settled.

“And what type is that?”

“ _Scientifically minded_.” She whispered it conspiratorially and Fitz couldn’t help but scoff.

“You don’t have to say it like that. It’s not contagious.”

“And you don’t need to make that face. I am, too. —Scientifically minded, that is.” She gripped the baton in her hand and planted her feet firmly on the mat. “Listen, if you want to spar with me you’ll need a stick.”

“Yes, I’m realizing that,” Fitz muttered.

“What was that?” She tilted her head and he did his best to pull himself together.

“I have a stick, already.”

“Well, where is it?”

“In your hand.” He gesticulated wildly with each word, his frustration again turning to anger.

“No, this one is mine.”

Just as he was about to break the situation down in terms even a kindergartner would understand, he noticed May hoist her exercise bag over her shoulder and head for the door. His argument with the confounding woman forgotten, he took off after May.

“Director May, wait!”

“Your thirty minutes are up, Dr. Fitz. You wasted the last five of them flirting.” For a petite woman, her stride was long and strong, and Fitz struggled to keep up.

“Flirting? I was most definitely not _flirting_. I’m practically a married man. And more importantly, science comes first! …As I was just informed this morning.” Fitz pulled himself together, ignoring the note of worry Callie’s words had stirred up.

May opened the driver side door of a nondescript SUV and tossed her bag over to the passenger seat.

“It definitely looked like flirting.”

“With that insufferable—” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “She stole my thing—my _stick_ , and then wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“Whatever you say.” Yes, May was definitely smiling—and at his expense. Fitz didn’t care for it. His morning had already been derailed enough, first by Radcliffe sending him on this grant-begging mission, and then by the pretty brunette— _Pretty?_ He gave his head a firm shake and tried to focus back on the present. Judging by May’s body language, he had a feeling she knew where his thoughts had wandered. With a deep breath, he steered the conversation back on track.

“I’d really appreciate a moment more of your time to discuss—” His held out his hands, as if he were addressing a group of students in a lecture hall.

“I’ve heard all about your stegosaurus.”

“ _Brontosaurus_.” Fitz sharply corrected and then cringed at his tone. “And we create other things. Some might even say revolutionary things.”

“Such as?”

“Drones.”

“Drones are hardly revolutionary.”

“ _These_ are. They use biometrics to seek out certain materials. They’ll do wonders for the forensics field.” Or at least they would, if he could only find the time to sort them out. Then they definitely would be revolutionary.

“OK.” May pulled herself up into the SUV and reached for the seat belt. “I’m having an early dinner at the Boiler Room tonight—6 o’clock. Bring one of these revolutionary drones and I’ll give you five minutes to convince me your lab should receive a SHIELD HQ grant.”

“Yes, great, fantastic! I’ll be there!” Fitz called after her as she backed out of the parking lot—Only to reveal the infuriating woman with honey-brown eyes in the next space over, struggling to key her way into a car. _His car._

“Hey! That’s mine!” He felt a brief satisfaction when she jumped away from the Vroom-Room.

“You again!” She turned and glared, blowing a lock of hair out of her face with an indignant huff.

“I could say the same thing to you.”

“Well, what is it now?” She put her hands on her hips and tucked her chin to the sky, as if gearing up for another verbal spar.

“This is my car.”

“ _Your_ stick, _your_ car… Did you hit your head during you training with Director May?”

He stopped short. “How do you know Director May?”

“Everyone in there knows her.” She pointed back at the Playground.

“Fine, be that way. Just move away from my car.”

“This is most definitely not your car. This is _my_ car.”

“There are only two of these cars in the entire _universe._ I can’t begin to tell you how unlikely the odds are that you own one. If this is your car, then why isn’t it accepting your passcode?”

“Oh, it does that sometimes. I think the engineering is a bit faulty.”

“It is most definitely _not_ _faulty_.” He tried not to wince at the way his voice cracked.

“But it’s no matter.” She pulled out a small electronic tablet and punched in a few commands. To Fitz’s shock, the device managed to override his passcode and unlocked the car door. The traitorous machine.

“There.” Pleased with herself, she tucked the tablet back in her satchel and before he could open his mouth to form any sort of protest, the infuriating brunette with the honey-brown eyes drove off.

Spinning around in a confused circle, his eyes landed on a second Vroom-Room parked under the shade of a maple tree.

“What in the _hell_.”

* * *

After a long, hot shower, a fitful nap, and several cups of tea to calm his frazzled nerves, Dr. Leopold Fitz arrived at the Boiler Room with his best drone in a box under his arm. He only felt a _little_ queasy, his nerves churning ever so slightly in his gut.

Since it was still a few minutes before 6 o’clock and Fitz had yet to spot Director May, he made his way over to the lavish, Art Deco-inspired bar and ordered up two gimlets, downing them quickly in a fashion that alarmed the bartender.

As the gin sloshed its way to his stomach, warming his insides on the way down, he felt someone lean up to the bar just to his right. She was so close the chiffon fabric of her sleeve brushed against him.

“Hiya, Mack! I’ll take a vodka martini, extra olives. In fact, can I get two? I can already tell it’s going to be an exhausting night of rubbing elbows.”

The brief warmth Fitz had found in his two gimlets evaporated at the sound of the sweet—no, not sweet… _aggravating—_ English lilt of the woman who stole his training baton. And more importantly, stole _his car_. It had taken him forty minutes to override the computer software in the other Vroom-Room, and then an additional seven minutes to set the mirrors and seat to his preference. He was still rather sore about the subject. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what upset him more: that she’d had a device on hand to instantly unlock the car model he’d personally designed, or that she thought the engineering was shoddy.

Hoping to remain unseen, Fitz tucked his head down but it was pointless. She leaned up on her toes, craning her head around to get a good look at him.

“Oh, it _is_ you. Well, what are the odds of that. Completely astronomical, I’d say, wouldn’t you?” She dropped back down to the floor just as Mack the bartender set two vodka martinis in front of her.

“I’d say it’s about par for the course.” Fitz glowered, hoping May would arrive soon and he could show her Sneezy before this trouble-making woman did something else to ruin his chance at the SHIELD HQ grant.

“I’m Jemma, by the way.” She nibbled on an olive. “Jemma Simmons. We didn’t properly introduce ourselves, earlier. You were a bit too focused on marking your territory.”

“ _My territory_?” He practically growled. “You stole my car.”

“Yes, I realized that the moment I turned out of the parking lot but I was so late for my next appointment I couldn’t turn around. You really should keep the inside of your car tidy.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for the next time someone wants to drive off with it.”

“How’d you end up with a Vroom-Room, anyway? There are only two in the entire universe, after all.” She echoed his words back to him, smiling.

“I designed it.”

“You?” She stopped, her glass halfway to her lips and looked at him with a mixture of excitement and astonishment. “ _You’re_ Leopold Fitz?”

“Yes?” He frowned, unsure whether to be offended or surprised by her tone.

“I’ve been following your work at Radcliffe Labs. I think you’re doing some amazing things.”

“Oh, well. Thank you?” A faint blush colored his cheeks. That had been an unexpected turn of events.

“Of course I’m not sure what scientific advancements a huge robotic brontosaurus brings to the field, but to each their own,” she added, instantly deflating what little ego he’d achieved in the three seconds after her praise.

“Oh, alright, OK.” He’d heard it all before, he didn’t need this woman adding her two cents. “George, as he’s called, is quite revolutionary.”

“How so?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Why, he—” he stumbled, not wanting to admit the dinosaur was still a massive work-in-progress.

“Hmm?”

“It’s confidential. Without a signed NDA, I’m afraid I can’t discuss it.”

“Oh, I see.” She tapped her nose conspiratorially and gave a wink. “‘God save the Queen,’ and all of that.”

“What?” Hang on, did she think him a _spy_? Some kind of secret agent? “Listen, Miss Simmons, you’ve got it all wrong. Somehow. _Yet again_.”

“Oh, no, no, don’t tell me. I’m sure there are sharp shooters on the rooftop, their scopes pointed right this way lest you say something about Project Brontosaurus to us mere civilians.” She took a dainty sip of her martini, a playful gleam in her eye.

“Oh, you’re teasing.”

“I do that sometimes.” She took another sip. “And it’s ‘Dr.’”

“Hmm?”

“Dr. Simmons. Although, to be pedantic, it’s Dr. _Dr._ Simmons since I have two doctorates, but they tend to frown when I sign my checks that way so I’ve just stopped. And yes, I’m teasing, again.”

“You don’t have two doctorates?”

“No, I do. I just haven’t written a check in ages. All electronic, all the time.”

“Ah, yes, well.” He watched her, equal parts enchanted and bewildered.

“So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Oh, the usual, you know.” He gave a flick of his hand. “I’m here to see Melinda May, since my last meeting with her was, pardon my frankness, a disaster.”

“Oh, really?”

Fitz nodded and waved to the bartender for another round of drinks.

“You know you don’t seem like her type,” Jemma offered and Fitz gave her a look. “Or perhaps, she doesn’t seem like yours. But, as I’m sure you learned this morning, she has no problem tossing men on their backs, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Fitz sputtered and seemed to turn tomato red, instantly.

“I—definitely… _No_.” He continued, grabbing his fresh drink and tossing it back with a wince. “It’s strictly a professional meeting. More to the point, I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Jemma paused, a flicker of something passing over her face and then just as quickly it was gone, replaced by a bright smile.

“Oh, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, at city hall.”

“Well, why are you here, waiting to meet with Melinda May on the eve of the most important day of your life?” She gave him a nudge.

“Ah, well, to speak with her about the SHIELD HQ grant. Have you heard about it?”

“Have I heard of it? Of course.” She tilted her head to the side. “Although I was under the impression they’d already determined the recipients.”

“That’s what I thought,” he agreed, leaning in. “But then I heard the current round of applicants was pretty lackluster. Not at all what the board was looking for.”

Immediately, Jemma’s expression frosted over, but this time it wasn’t replaced with a bright smile. This time, she looked like she might shatter the martini glass in her hand with one strong squeeze.

“Oh, really? _The board_ found the applicants lackluster?” She stood so quickly the bar stool scraped across the cement floor. “And I suppose you’re just the scientist to blow them out of the water, aren’t you? Well not everyone can build a game-changing robotic dinosaur in a state-of-the-art lab that they have all to themselves. But then again, you built that damn thing, but don’t have any real plans for it, do you? It’s just a machine to tinker around with, like a little boy.”

Gobsmacked by the rather abrupt change in her demeanor, Fitz watched as she stormed off across the Boiler Room. He wasn’t sure why—maybe it was because she’d figured out how useless George really was when neither Radcliffe nor Callie ever had—but he soon found himself following, Sneezy tucked under his arm.

The next moment was a perfect example of the law of inertia in practice. _A body will preserve its velocity and direction as long as no outside force acts on it._ Unfortunately, he was that outside force.

Fitz was struggling to keep pace and apologize—for what, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he was too close and she was too fast. Fitz didn’t mean to step on her dress, truly, but with one clumsy step forward he crushed the chiffon train of the periwinkle concoction under his foot. Jemma, however, failed to notice and continued moving forward. The gauzy fabric ripped, splitting the back of her dress right down the middle.

It wasn’t until Fitz moved closer and pulled her back against him that she noticed anything at all.

“Excuse me,” she started, hotly, plucking at his hand where it was pressed flat against her stomach. “Kindly let me go.”

“I don’t think you want me to do that.” His mouth was near her ear, lips practically pressed to her neck. She jabbed him with the sharp point of her elbow but he didn’t budge.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Your dress…”

“Yes, it’s quite lovely. Would you like the name of the designer for your bride-to-be, then?”

“No. I do not want the—would you stop talking for one second? I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help. I’d prefer it if you’d unhand me this instant. I have important matters to attend somewhere far, far away from _you_.”                                                         

“You don’t want to know why I stopped you?”

“Not in the least.” She raised her chin, defiantly.

“Fine, off you go.” He dropped his arms and watched her take two proud steps before coming to an abrupt halt. She groped at the back of her gown, realization dawning, and immediately yelped before pressing her back to the nearest decorative column. She looked back at him in wide-eyed panic and the satisfaction he felt at watching her flounder was quickly replaced by shame.

“Your dress ripped.” He offered, dimly. “I stepped on it.”

“So I gathered. Oh, I can’t stay here! I had a night of very important meetings lined up and--” She stopped short and looked at him. “Oh, don’t just stand there. _Help me_.”

“Now? Now, you want my help?” Something in him wanted to make her squirm just a bit more.

“Walk me to my car.”

“ _Your_ car, or _my_ car?”

“Now is _not_ the time to mark territory, Dr. Fitz.” She was practically shrieking.

“Fine, fine,” he acquiesced and slipped off his dinner jacket, draping it around her shoulders. She let out a grateful sigh. But when they stepped away from the brushed metal column and heard the sharp rip of more fabric, Fitz realized his jacket had caught on an exposed nail.

Jemma stopped in her tracks, eyes closed in quiet anger. Leaning around her to take a look, he noted that his dinner jacket, much like her dress, was completely ruined. It now offered her as little protection as her torn dress.

“Right, well then,” Fitz started, wincing as Jemma dug her fingers into his arm. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” She whimpered through gritted teeth.

“How familiar are you with the Marx brothers?”

“Comedy or communism?”

“Ah, comedy, in this case. Did Karl Marx _have_ a brother?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed. “Some daft man stepped on the train of my dress, ripped it to bits, and is now chatting about 1930s screwball comedy, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit distracted.”

“You don’t have to get so uppity.” He took back his now useless jacket and, with a shrug, slipped it on.

“Oh, I believe I have the right, at this particular moment. Now what about the Marx brothers?”

Without a word, Fitz took her by the shoulder, spun her around so her back was once again against his chest.

“We’re going to march—right foot, then left foot—out that door as if nothing strange has occurred.”

“We’ll look absurd.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No. Fine, but I’m Groucho.”

“You don’t actually _need_ to be a Marx brother for this to work. I was trying to make a point. OK, be Groucho,” he conceded off of her sharp look.

“If I’m Groucho, that makes you Zeppo.”

“He’s _the worst_.”

“Exactly.”

With a roll of his eyes, Fitz secured her against him and made for the door. A few people stopped and gawked at them as they made their way through the crowd, but they did their best to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Jemma offered compliments on various outfits while Fitz offered commentary on the weather.

Their exit went rather smoothly until they hit the entryway, where Melinda May stood, dressed in a form-fitting black sequined gown. A corner of her mouth quirked up and Fitz swallowed down a groan. Then, as the duo duck-walked past her, she spoke in a hushed tone only Fitz could hear:

“Definitely looks like flirting to me.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, while having her tea and sorting through a week’s worth of mail and packages, Dr. Jemma Simmons was feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the rather embarrassing ending to her evening. The night had ended with Fitz gallantly walking her to the parking lot where he immediately directed her to her car and demanded she turn over his mess of a Vroom-Room. She sighed, he was quite cute when he was being so authoritative. 

Now, wrapped in a lilac silk dressing gown, Jemma sat at the large table in the dining room and ran a well-manicured nail along the seal of an envelope addressed from her half-brother, Lance. An adventurer by trade, he now went by the moniker ‘Hunter’ in his circle of like-minded friends, but she still refused to call him anything of the sort. It was, she felt, a little too on-the-nose given his idea for proper gift-giving.

Behind her, a spotted leopard leisurely prowled and sniffed at various cracks and crevices of the penthouse. It pawed at the opened door of its travel crate, causing the hinges to squeak. The delivery of a wild animal to her doorstep wasn’t exactly new. Over the years, Lance had sent a Burmese python, a pair of Emperor penguins, and a sloth. A leopard, however, was decidedly more… well, deadly. Although, at the moment, this particular leopard seemed rather docile. Just the same, she wished Lance would stop sending home wild animals.

Her uncle had threatened to disinherit Lance when he’d attempted to ship an elephant. It was borderline irresponsible, but Lance was more about saving the rare animal that he believed was in need of a better home for one reason or another. She supposed it made sense, given the fact that Jemma and Lance had been orphaned young and left as wards with their American uncle. While she had fit in easily in the States, Lance had found it a bit more difficult and once he turned of age, he set off on his adventuring quests. He had made a career out of hunting down rare and lost treasures, and was quite good at it.

“Ah-ha! Here’s the letter from my wayward brother,” she called out over her shoulder to no one in particular. The leopard didn’t seem to care, having found a snag in the ornate rug. “ _Dear Jemma_ , _I’m sending you Baby. I found him in Brazil. He wasn’t as rowdy as the rest of the pack and had little interest in jungle life. I knew you’d know what to do with him. He’s three years old, gentle as a kitten and he likes dogs._ —I wonder whether Lance means he is fond of them or he eats them. Lance is so vague at times.” 

Before she could give it any further thought, there was a knock on the door and soon Koenig was presenting Leopold Fitz at the doorway of the dining room.

“You’re in your nightgown,” he stammered, mouth gaping like a fish.

“I’m wearing a dressing robe in my home, and it is nine o’clock on a Saturday. Some of us take a leisurely pace on the weekends.” What _was_ it about him that made her so prickly? “Just the same, I promise you won’t be scandalized by the glimpse of my ankles—Say, shouldn’t you be off at city hall, getting hitched?”

“Yes, well,” he shuffled and tugged on his ear. “That’s not until this evening. And it seems I left Sneezy in the backseat when I helped you into your Vroom-Room.”

“You really should think about renaming that car model.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“So this is Sneezy, then?” She pulled the device up from its place on the chair next to her.

“Ah, yes, my drone. There are seven of them. They’re meant to gather proper biometrics for various scientific enquiries and experiments.”

“All named after the seven dwarfs in Snow White, I presume?”

“Exactly.” He smiled and Jemma warmed.

“Do the names signify each drone’s specialization?”

“Yes!”

“So Sneezy is for olfactory specimens, then.”

“Theoretically. I’m still working out some bugs from the bio side of things.”

“Oh?” Jemma perked up. “I’d be happy to take a look before you go. That’s rather my specialty— _the bio side of things_.”

“Sure, yeah, that’d be great.” His leg bounced as if he was suddenly shy and Jemma found the gesture endearing.

How did he make her feel so snappish one minute and completely charmed the next? Unbelievable. But it didn’t matter to think on the subject, he was engaged to be married _that afternoon_ and as soon as she handed over her assessment of his drone, he would be out of her life forever. Unless, of course, he received a SHIELD grant. Then she would probably see him on a rather frequent basis. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he began to point behind her.

“Jemma… _Jemma_.” He stepped closer to her, white as a sheet. “Whatever you do, stay very still. For reasons I’m not currently clear on, there is a leopard behind you.”

“Ah yes,” Jemma glanced back to the corner of the room where Baby lounged behind a red velvet divan half his size. “That’s Baby.”

“You have a _pet_ leopard?” Fitz was practically on the ceiling.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a pet leopard.” Jemma rolled her eyes and picked up her tea cup. “My brother sent him for me to look after.”

Fitz stared at her, his expression caught between confusion and exasperation. After a few moments, he pushed his glasses further on his nose and sized her up before taking a step forward.

“You can’t stay in this apartment.”

“Well, I have to, Fitz. I have a lease.” She scoffed. _Honestly_.

“Then _he_ needs to go. I’m calling the zoo.”

“No! The _zoo_!” She shot to her feet and stood between Fitz and the leopard. “Why, that’s the most horrid thing I’ve ever heard. He’d be _miserable_ at the zoo. And besides, I’m perfectly safe. According to Lance’s note, the easiest way to calm him is to sing ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love’ –I’d have thought he’d prefer something more modern but…”

He exhaled heavily, as if he was trying to keep his temper in check, and for a moment Jemma wanted nothing more than to see him get well and truly angry. _What was wrong with her?_

“Right, I’ll just be taking my drone and leaving you to it, then.”

Jemma gave a little shrug and handed over Sneezy, all the while ignoring the slight pang of unhappiness she felt at the idea of never seeing him again. Of course, they’d only met the day before and nothing about their meeting had been ordinary or peaceful. It was ridiculous to suddenly feel so attached to a person, but Jemma had the distinct impression Fitz was someone special. But he was also someone _else’s_ someone special and she couldn’t make him stay. Plus, he’d seemed rather put off by the leopard currently pacing the length of the room.

“Goodbye, Dr. Simmons.” He gave a brief nod and left.

Feeling rather shattered, Jemma quickly made her way back to the table to pour a soothing cup of tea. However, she soon found herself tripping, careening into the porcelain tea service and sending it to the floor.

“Jemma!” She heard Fitz shout from other side of the apartment door. “Jemma, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m just—” She began to pull herself up.

“Was it the leopard?”

“The leopard?” Jemma turned to look into the adjacent room where Baby was now stretched out, practically sleeping, and then back to the front door. Judging by the thumping sounds, Fitz was slamming his shoulder against the door jamb. Well, Dr. Jemma Simmons was no damsel in distress, but desperate times, and all that. “Yes, yes! Oh, Fitz, the leopard! Help!”

Ten seconds later, Fitz ran into the room, a befuddled Koenig following behind. Fitz stopped short when he saw her sitting up on the floor next to a broken tea service, sipping from the one perfectly intact cup.

“You tricked me,” he gasped, looking around the room.

“Only just a little.”

“Leading me to believe a leopard had mauled you to shreds is ‘only just a little’?”

“It was a stretch of the truth, I’ll admit. But I do, in fact, need your help.”

“You need more than any help I can give.” He shot her a sharp look.

“Oh, be nice. I’m trying to say you were right.”

“I was what?” He leaned forward, cupping a hand around his ear. “Could you repeat that?”

“Would you like it in writing?” She held out a hand and he pulled her to her feet.

“I’d like it framed, is what I’d like.”

“You, Dr. Leopold Fitz, were right.” Jemma peeked up at him, suddenly feeling a tad flirty. “Wouldn’t you like to know what you were right about?”

“I’m almost certain it’s applicable to anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, well, in this case, you were right about Baby. He can’t stay here.”

“A leopard, here, in the city? You don’t say.”

“But I need your help.”

“How so?”

“I need someone to help me drive Baby out of town. We have a bit of a nature reserve just across the state line. You see, this isn’t the first time Lance has sent home an animal from his travels, and well, we’re a rather scientific family and it all made sense, I suppose.”

“Where do I fit in?”

“I can’t very well drive a leopard that far by myself, can I? What if the crisp country air gives him ideas, what then?” In the other room, the leopard yawned.

“Jemma, I have a rather packed day, all of which leads to a rather important event this evening.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She wrung her hands together, feeling rather frantic. “But, well—Oh! You never got to speak with Melinda May last night.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“She’s supposed to stop by the house this afternoon for tea.”

“You know Director May well enough that she comes over for tea and you never thought to mention it?”

“Yes, well, I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I?” She tried not to look him in the eye, hoping he wouldn’t ask _how_ she knew Melinda May. That was a topic she’d like to avoid as best as she could. “The house is ninety minutes away, which gives us plenty of time to tuck Baby away on the reserve, have a quick tea and demonstration with May, then put you on the express train back to the city. Have no fear, Fitz, I’ll get you to the church on time.”

“City hall,” he corrected without thought.

“It was a figure of speech.”

“All right, say I do this. Say I help you—do you promise there will be no more funny business?” Fitz moved closer, holding out his right pinky. “No more driving off with prototypes that don’t belong to you? No more pretending to get mauled by a leopard?”

“I pinky promise to not cry ‘leopard’ again. Unless, of course, the situation warrants.” She curled her pinky finger around his and shook.

Of course, he couldn’t see the fingers of her other hand, crossed behind her back.

* * *

An hour later, after Jemma had taken a bath, dried and styled her hair, applied a light layer of makeup, and found her favorite fashionable day dress, they were on their way out of the city. Fitz had demanded to drive for some reason, and she gave in. She was certain the possibility of transporting a leopard in the back of a Vroom-Room had never crossed his mind when he was designing the car. Baby, for the most part, stretched out on the backseat and took in the passing view, occasionally sticking his nose out the open window.

The trip was going relatively smoothly until around noon, twenty miles away from their destination, when a farm truck transporting live chickens came into view. Jemma had never seen a leopard leap quite so fast—not even the small window of a moving car slowed him down.

By one o’clock they were back on the road. This time Jemma took over the driving, while Fitz sat in the passenger seat, covered in chicken feathers and mud from the ensuing chase. She found his surly expression and crossed arms rather endearing, although she was positive he was trying for the opposite effect. In the backseat, Baby licked his chops, satisfied with his lunch choice.

“You know, I probably should have thought to pack him a snack for the trip,” Jemma offered when the silence grew too heavy.

“Don’t.”

“I’ll pay you back the money you gave that farmer for damages.” Fitz only grunted in agreement. “Well, on the plus side, at least we know Baby really _does_ respond to hearing ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love.’”

“Can we just,” he worked his jaw back and forth, “not talk for the next eighteen miles.”

Deciding not to push her luck, Jemma followed his request.

By the time they reached her family’s country home, Fitz was a little less moody—but only slightly.  Baby, however, was fast asleep and it took a bit of careful nudging to get him awake and into the holding enclosure. It took even more careful nudging to get Fitz into the house.

“Well, you’ll want to freshen up before tea with May, no doubt.” Jemma indicated the chicken feathers and smudges currently covering Fitz and his suit.

“There’s a shower in the guest room you’re free to use. And fresh towels,” Koenig said, popping his head into the room. Fitz stopped in his tracks.

“How on _earth_ did you beat us here, all the way from the city?”

“Oh, that’s not Koenig.” Jemma turned to glance down the hall. “Well, it is, but a different Koenig. This is Sam. You met Billy earlier.”

“You have a matching set of butlers?” Fitz’s eyes were round and disbelieving.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam and Billy aren’t butlers. This isn’t the Regency England. They run the house—whichever one it may be—sure, but, well, there’s more to it than that.”

“OK.” Fitz held up a hand. “Forget I asked.”

Mumbling to himself, Fitz dropped his drone on the spare bed and headed for the bathroom. Once she heard the full stream of the shower, Jemma gingerly opened the door and snatched his discarded suit before handing it off to a slightly confused Koenig. While they had a perfectly capable laundry setup in the house, Jemma made a rather forceful request that the garments be sent to town. After all, she reasoned, she couldn’t send him down the aisle looking so bedraggled.

Jemma put the kettle on and sat down to wait for Fitz to finish in the shower. She didn’t need to wait long.

Soon she could hear him shouting her name from the upper floor, and before long he was storming down the stairs.

“Where are my clothes, Dr. Simmons?” He was practically vibrating with poorly restrained anger, his accent noticeably thicker. Under normal circumstances, an irate Fitz would be a sight to behold, but as such, he was currently standing in her kitchen, dripping wet and dressed in the only item of clothing left in the guest room: her pink dressing gown with fluffy feather detailing along the edges.

“My, don’t you look fetching.” She fought to keep from laughing.

“Don’t you start. Do you know how much scrubbing it took to get those chicken feathers off, and then I get out of the shower and the only thing in the entire room is _this monstrosity_.” He sputtered out the feathers flying in his mouth as he waved frantically.

“Well, your suit needed cleaned and pressed. It’s being taken care of.”

“No, I don’t have that kind of time, Simmons.” He looked even more ridiculous with his dark frames slipping down his nose and his hands on his hips. “Just give me back my suit and I’ll be on my way.”

“You can’t go yet! You haven’t met with May.” Jemma scrambled to her feet just as the tea kettle boiled and poured the hot water into the serving tea pot.

“I have resigned myself to never meeting with May.” He slumped into a chair. “I think it’s for the best, honestly. Some other sap can have that grant.”

“Sap?” Jemma straightened up, slightly offended. “SHIELD grant recipients aren’t saps!”

“Well, then, maybe I just don’t want it enough.” He took the offered cup of tea. “And besides, I’m supposed to be getting married in three hours! In another state!”

Just then, a yapping terrier came bounding into the kitchen, playfully snapping and barking at Jemma.

“Oh, no,” Jemma gasped, filled with dread. “Lola, if you’re here then that means…”

She reached over at Fitz, pulling him to his feet and shoving him from the room.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? Can’t a man enjoy a cup of tea around here?”

“You have to hide. If my uncle sees you in his house, he’ll have a million questions and then you really will be out of a grant, as well as any future SHIELD grants.” She continued to shove him, her hand pressed against his chest, but he was stronger than she anticipated. “It’ll be bad enough trying to keep him from finding Baby… Oh, I wish Lance would stop sending home _wild animals_. It’s all getting rather out of hand.”

“What are you talking about? What does your uncle have to do with SHIELD?” He gripped the door jamb, refusing to budge while Jemma continued to panic. Lola circled them, yapping louder and louder.

“He _is_ SHIELD.” She leaned against him, but his grip was too strong. “My uncle is Phil Coulson.”

“What?” Fitz let go of the wall and landed on the floor in a thud. Lola nipped at his toes and then licked the bottoms of his bare feet before taking off up the stairs.

“Your uncle is the CEO of SHIELD HQ?” Fitz scrambled to his feet and clutched at the gapping robe.

“He can’t see me like this!”

“I know!” Jemma was beginning to regret sending his clothes several miles away. “That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

“I’m a respectable scientist, Jemma. I know that blasted dinosaur is a bit of a novelty, but my other designs—the Vroom-Room, the DWARFs! Those are respectable.”

“Yes.” She had read up on his studies some more last night. He really was quite the brilliant young mind. Of course, she was just as brilliant—if not more so, but now was not the time…

“I think it’s best I fetch my drone and go home. The CEO of SHIELD cannot find me in a fluffy pink robe, in his house, with his niece. I’ll never work again.” Still dazed, Fitz ran up the stairs just as Phil Coulson entered the front door, his eyes immediately landing on Jemma.

“I thought I saw my Vroom-Room out front! Although the backseat looks a little mangled.” Her uncle frowned but Jemma smiled as brightly as possible given the circumstances.

Suddenly, she heard a startled shout from upstairs, followed by thunderous stomping on the hardwood floors. Jemma slammed pots and pans around in the kitchen to distract her uncle, although it didn’t seem to work.

“Is someone else here?”

“Hmm? Who else would be here, dear uncle?”

Coulson narrowed his eyes, studying her closely. She did her best to look innocent, but it was no use. Turning on his heel, Coulson bounded up the stairs just as Fitz, still dressed in the robe, came down.

“Who are you?” Coulson’s head volleyed between Fitz and Jemma. “Who is he?”

“Sneezy is missing!” Fitz shouted by way of greeting. He was practically near hysteria as he gesticulated wildly and struggled to look at Jemma around her uncle. “His box is empty, and there were little paw prints all around the bed where I left him!”

“What the hell is going on?” Coulson snapped, even more confused.

“I’m sitting at the bus terminal on my way to my wedding and none of the last twenty-four hours happened,” Fitz muttered as he slumped down to the nearest step, his head in his hands.

“Will someone please tell me who this guy is?” Her uncle was turning an alarming shade of red and Jemma began to fidget. Fitz was clearly stressed beyond rational thought if he willingly came back downstairs and faced her uncle. Then again, Jemma wasn’t entirely sure if he was aware of his surroundings, given the constant mumbling.

“You don’t know?” Jemma looked back at her uncle, surprised he and Fitz had never crossed paths before, considering her uncle’s adoration of the Vroom-Room. Well, if that was the case… And if Fitz preferred her uncle not know his true identity… “This is Mr. Drone. He’s a bit out of touch at the mo’. He just returned from Brazil, where he was hunting leopards. Caught a bad case of malaria, you know.”

“Sure, of course.” Her uncle looked like he didn’t believe her. “Why is he in my house and why is he dressed like that?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy to explain. The medication has been doing a number on him—well, you know how strong those things need to be for malaria—so I thought the country air would do him good. But the poor man thought he saw an elephant and tried to give chase, only to fall into the muddy stream that runs behind the reserve.”

“He _didn’t_ see an elephant, did he? Lance didn’t sneak one home when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, still no elephant.” Jemma shook her head, biting her tongue to keep from spilling about the leopard addition.

“Thank God.”

Lola yapped her way through the sitting room, the kitchen, and out the back door, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints behind. Immediately spotting the terrier, Fitz rushed down the stairs, past Coulson and Jemma, practically tripping over the flimsy robe.

“Bring Sneezy back!” He shrieked once he was out the door. 

“Oh dear,” Jemma murmured before running after him and the dog. She was certain she heard her uncle shout for Koenig to bring him a double scotch. She couldn’t blame him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz loved all kinds of animals, but he preferred monkeys and dogs. Well, most dogs. At the moment he rather hated the tiny terrier curled up under the shade of a tree.  _ Tiny terrier, _ Fitz scoffed. More like tiny  _ terror_.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” He blinked and glanced up. Jemma was looking over at him, an eyebrow raised in that way he had found infuriating but was now finding less so. In fact, he was beginning to find it just a little bit adorable.

“You made a noise, sounded like a laugh.” She leaned back on her hands with her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. They were sitting on the grass across from Lola, waiting on her to make a move and lead them to wherever the hell she’d buried his one working drone. Well, his one  _ previously  _ working drone. It was probably shite now, dirt and dog drool in the crevices, deteriorating the delicate microchips and wiring…

“What could I possibly find funny about this situation?” Fitz tugged at the blue quilted house coat Jemma had given him after she’d chased him back into the house. It was well worn and about two sizes too big for him, but paired with her brother’s trousers and his own dress shoes, he was much more comfortable.

“You tell me, you’re the one laughing. Or maybe it was more like a snort.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t. Doesn’t matter.” He glared back at the dog but Lola only panted at him. He really didn’t like that dog.

“I’m assuming since it’s quarter past five, you spoke with your fiancée?”

“Hmm?” Fitz looked up again. “Oh, yes, we spoke. She didn’t quite understand what I was doing out in the country. Thought I had cold feet, or something.”

Fitz shifted awkwardly and decided to not focus on the small niggle at the back of his brain that  _ was _ second-guessing his marriage.

“Tell me about her,” Jemma asked and while her tone was light, Fitz thought he heard a hint of something else but he brushed it off as his own imagination.

“Callie? Well, she’s Callie.” He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve. “She started as an intern with Radcliffe and then eventually she became a lab assistant. And we just sort of… happened. She’s sturdy and dependable.”

“Sturdy and dependable, how romantic. Is she the love of your life, or a desk?” Jemma asked—rather sourly, he thought.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Does she make you feel vulnerable and not at all like yourself, but in a perfectly delightful way? Do you never want to be without her?” Jemma was staring at something off in the distance, he was sure, but she had a rather dreamy expression on her face and Fitz wondered about the person she was thinking of—the person who made her feel not at all like herself, but in a perfectly delightful way. He found he was envious of whoever it was.

“Of course,” Fitz lied.

“Oh,” Jemma glanced back at him, sharply. “Well, in that case, it’s too bad you’re missing your wedding. Why is that exactly? I mean, if Callie is the one person you can’t do without, then why are you out here with me, watching a lazy lapdog who hasn’t moved for the better part of an hour?”

Fitz frowned, his tongue stuck in his mouth. She had a rather good point—if a man finds the love of his life, and she agrees to marry him, he should move heaven and earth to be there for the ceremony. What was he doing out here with this crazy woman and her menagerie of unruly pets? He was afraid to look too closely at his reasons—that maybe he  _ enjoyed  _ spending time with this woman. Was that possible? She'd had him running in circles from the moment they'd met...

He said the first word that came to mind.

“Science.”

“Science?” Now Jemma frowned. “Is science why you helped me drive a leopard out to the country, hours before you were supposed to get married?”

“You did promise me tea with Melinda May. But also, I couldn’t leave you to deal with that on your own. He could’ve mauled you, or something. And then I’d see it on the news and, well…” He gestured lamely.

“You could have left me to deal with Baby without you. We’d only just met. It wouldn’t have been an unreasonable thing to do. But is it science that’s keeping you here—especially now that May has cancelled her trip up?”

May had called Coulson while Fitz changed and spoke with Callie. Given the magnificent way his day had fallen off the rails, Fitz was hardly surprised and rather relieved May had cancelled. Of course, Coulson was still expecting an old friend to join for dinner, and since he was stuck until his suit was returned that evening, Fitz could only hope it wasn’t anyone he knew.

Realizing he had paused too long, Fitz looked up and caught Jemma peeking over at him in a way that left him with a wonderfully warm feeling. He had no idea how to answer her question that wouldn’t open up dozens more questions—most of which he wasn’t sure he could begin to unravel just yet. The big one being what was he doing here when he was supposed to be getting married? He shook the thought away. He’d deal with that later, once they found his prototype. He edged the conversation back to safer ground.

“Well, I can’t very well leave Sneezy out here in the elements. He’s the only good drone prototype I have. The other two completed copies are fine and all, but Sneezy is— _ was _ —perfect.”

“Exactly,  _ was _ perfect. I’m sure Lola has seen to it that he’s ruined, no doubt buried right along with my favorite red heel—just the left one, mind you, I have the right heel but what am I to do without a matching set?” She wagged a scolding finger over at the dog and the tension between them began to recede.

“You’d certainly look odd, hobbling around with one shoe.” He couldn’t help but grin.

“Yes, no doubt. All of this is to say that your buried drone prototype is currently in worse shape than your other two completed copies. Or even the remaining four copies you  _ haven’t _ finished.” Jemma plucked at the blades of grass as if she were strangely self-conscious. “Why is Sneezy so important?”

Fitz sighed. “I’m sure this comes as a complete surprise, but making friends wasn’t easy for me. I was a young kid working on a PhD, an ocean away from my family. So I built Sneezy. I couldn’t quite figure out how to get the sensors to accurately record the biometrics—neither biology nor chemistry being my strong suit. But I figured Sneezy out, and then we were pals. I took him apart and put him back together more times than I can count.”

“Oh.” Jemma’s mouth rounded as if realizing something. “So the remaining drones aren’t exactly difficult for you to finish at this stage, are they? You just  _ haven’t  _ finished them.”

Fitz felt rather exposed, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcomed. Instead, it felt like someone was finally seeing him as he was—the awkward version of himself he’d always had trouble shaking. He had a feeling Jemma Simmons, for all her charm and bravado, understood what it meant to be the smartest teenager in a classroom of twenty-somethings, to be socially awkward and sometimes shy. Well, maybe not shy, he thought, as he remembered the various escapades she’d instigated throughout the last twenty-four hours.

“I have built and rebuilt all seven drones a dozen times each.” He gave a little shrug. “I could do it blindfolded.”

“But if you finish them, then they’re ready for commercial use. And if they’re ready for commercial use…”

“Then they’re not mine anymore. I mean they  _ are _ , but,” he shrugged again, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile he didn’t quite feel.  “Anyway, what about you, heir to the SHIELD throne?”

“Oh, you know, it's exactly what you think. Glitz, glamour, parties. Rubbing elbows, kissing babies.” Jemma rolled her eyes. “I suppose I owe you an explanation as to why I was so upset about those  _ lackluster  _ grant recipients you’d mentioned last night. I was the one in charge of narrowing down the pool of applicants, and I’d thought my selection rather astute. But alas, it’s often difficult for my uncle to loosen his grip on something, especially when that something is SHIELD.” She shrugged as if it didn’t bother her, but Fitz felt that wasn’t at all the case, though he let her continue.

“I suppose it’s enjoyable most days, but not at all what I expected to be doing for a career. I flew through school, you know? I had my second PhD by the time I was 17, and I thought I’d spend the next 50 years running my own lab, discovering cures for diseases, or at least easing the plight of humanity in some fashion. Instead, I’m here, chauffeuring a leopard to the country estate and staring down my uncle’s terrible terrier.”

She snorted and this time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing, I just thought… She’s more  _ terror _ than  _ terrier _ . Get it?” She nudged him with her elbow and he was transfixed by the perfect shape of her mouth, by the plump fullness of her bottom lip as the tip of her tongue darted out to wet it... He leaned forward ever so slightly and she stilled, her cheeks turning a soft pink. He had the distant thought that it was the first time in the short time he’d known her that she was so still.

“Wait!” She shrieked and Fitz froze. “The—the dog—Lola! Wait! That dratted dog. She’s taking off. Quick, follow her!” Jemma shoved at him as he scrambled to his feet. Soon she was on her feet, as well, following close behind.

They had it right, Fitz was sure of it. That damn dog  _ was _ an absolute terror.

* * *

To Fitz’s relief, Coulson’s dinner guest wasn’t someone he’d previously met. However, the relief was mixed, since the dinner guest was renowned billionaire Tony Stark—who happened to be a brilliant engineer in his own right.

If only Lola had led them to his drone that afternoon, Fitz would have found a way back to the city—with or without his suit. He could've avoided the awkward situation of meeting an idol in such a state. And he would have been able to avoid any further thought about nearly kissing someone who was  _ definitely  _ not his fiancée. Neither he nor Jemma had mentioned the near-kiss. Instead, they had tripped after Lola, who ran them in circles that all led back to her favorite spot under the tree. Perhaps Sneezy really was lost forever…

“Agent here tells me you hunted leopards, Mr. Drone,” Stark hooked his thumb at Coulson, his commanding voice cutting through the otherwise heavy silence at the dinner table. Since Fitz didn’t know an Agent or a Mr. Drone, he kept his head down and ran his spoon through his tepid pea soup—until Jemma kicked him under the table.

“Ow! What the?” He scowled at her but she stopped him with a pointed look.

“Yes, Mr.  _ Drone _ ,” Jemma nodded slowly in his direction, “you hunted leopards in Brazil.”

“Me? I’m Mr—Did I?” Bewildered, Fitz winced when his voice cracked. “I mean, yes, I did—No! I would never, dreadful sport. Hunting beautiful creatures. I went down to Brazil to protest.”

Jemma stifle a groan as Stark sized him up.

“Hmm,” the billionaire drawled. “I just got back from a hunting trip down there myself, don’t remember seeing you  _ protesting _ .”

Fitz shot a look over at Jemma but she refused to meet his eyes. Great, she managed to get him in this mess with a fake name and background, and now she didn’t have the decency to keep him from insulting a  _ billionaire genius engineer _ .

“Must’ve been knocked down by that malaria, huh?” Coulson offered.

“Yes, malaria. Very debilitating.” He ripped off a hunk of bread with his teeth. Perhaps if his mouth were full, they wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“And I’ve heard those pills they give you for it can be quite a trip. Make you see elephants.” Coulson continued, staring at Fitz rather intently. He nodded and continued to chew.

At that exact moment, Lola decided to make an appearance in the dining room. She walked primly past the table and out the doggie door. With a hunk of bread still in his hand, Fitz stood and followed after her. Jemma trailed behind him without a word.

Stark watched them go, his eyes wide in disbelief before turning back to his friend. “You’re sure it’s just the malaria pills?”

Coulson sighed and held up his highball glass, but Koenig was already at his side with the scotch decanter.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set, and after hours of following Lola the Terrible Terror of a Terrier, Fitz believed Sneezy was a lost cause.

The dog could have buried the drone anywhere—although, she seemed to prefer a particular grove of trees just past the house, but a safe distance from the animal reserve. He and Jemma had circled that particular area in countless loops but found no disturbed earth or freshly pawed holes.  _ Poor Sneezy. _ Fitz sighed.  _ He didn’t deserve to go that way. Lost and buried in his prime. _

After Lola had interrupted their dinner with Coulson and Stark with another fruitless search, Fitz had excused himself back to the guest room. Jemma had agreed he needed to rest and slipped him a glass of Coulson’s prized scotch. And so there he sat on the dressing chaise, feet propped up on the bed, sipping expensive scotch, and lamenting the end of his career as he knew it. Oh he was being dramatic, of course. Losing Sneezy was a setback, as he had the remaining six DWARFs in some fashion or another. He  _ was _ a genius; he could fix them up in no time. He just hadn’t wanted to fix the drones, didn’t want to close that chapter of his life. Until this morning (or was it yesterday?) he rather liked his life the way it was: stable, dependable. Safe.

But his life had changed the moment he set foot in the Playground for his sparring session with Melinda May. Everything from that point onward was off the rails. He’d failed to dazzle May with his state-of-the-art tech,  _ and  _ he’d managed to miss his own wedding. Although Fitz was beginning to wonder if either of those issues were necessarily  _ bad. _

What sounded like a woman's bloodcurdling scream cut through the quiet night. 

“Jemma!” Fitz jumped to his feet and raced out of the room only to find her at the bottom of the stairs trying desperately to yank on a pair of green wellies. “Jemma, what was that scream about?”

“That wasn’t me.” She continued to hop on her right foot, struggling to shove her left foot into the boot. He took her elbow to steady her. “That was Koenig! It seems he’s spotted a leopard running loose.”

“Oh, no.” Fitz rubbed his forehead.

“Oh yes! And my uncle and Mr. Stark are already out there, hunting for it. C’mon and help me find him before they do!” Jemma belted her robe—this one a thick navy flannel—and ran out into the night singing the chorus of Baby’s favorite tune. Fitz groaned, tossed back the remaining scotch in his glass, and dragged himself out the door.

By the time he caught up with Jemma, she was speaking animatedly with her uncle about the possibility of a leopard on the reserve grounds. Both he and Stark were armed with ICER guns—Radcliffe Lab tech and Fitz speciality. The ICERs were non-lethal weapons meant to temporarily knock out an opponent (or leopard). Fitz was quite proud of the project, and was pleased to see them in the hands of Coulson and Stark. Of course to they had no way of knowing he was the man behind the tech. To them, he was just Mr. Drone.

“Honestly, what was I supposed to do, Uncle? Lance sent him to me, and I couldn’t rightly send him back, could I? He didn’t come with a gift receipt.” Jemma had her hands on her hips—a pose Fitz had already seen countless times in the two days since they met.

“Don’t play that with me, Jemma. You know how I feel about needing to have a nature reserve in the first place. It’s preposterous. As I’m sure your  _ Mr. Drone _ can attest, wild animals deserve to be in their natural habitats. But I can’t get that bleeding heart mercenary nephew of mine to understand that—and yes, I do realize how ridiculous that sounds, but try telling that to Lance.”

“Yes, yes, I know, Uncle Phil but—”

“It doesn’t matter. Koenig called animal control in his fit of panic. They’re already on their way.”

“But Baby belongs here! This is the most perfect place for him to be!”

“I think we can agree that the perfect place for Baby was Brazil.” Coulson patted Jemma’s arm.

A few yards away, Tony Stark cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a terrible wail.

“What on earth are you doing, Stark?” Coulson glared at him, seemingly even more exasperated with each passing moment.

“Leopard mating call,” Stark said, his back still to the others. Close by, a leopard returned the call with an equally terrible wail, a more aggressive sound than he and Jemma had ever heard from Baby.

A few moments later, the leopard appeared through the shrubs, his teeth bared and gleaming.

“That is most definitely not my leopard.” Jemma practically scaled Fitz who, dazed by the sight of a snarling wild animal, picked her up with ease.

“How can you be so sure?” Stark shot her a look.

“ _My _ leopard is as docile as a kitten, he likes dogs, and calms down when you sing ‘I Can’t Give You Anything But Love.’” Jemma wrapped her arms around Fitz’s neck and despite the grim nature of the moment, he rather liked holding her.

“How is singing that song any different than the mating call I just used? Both have a similar end goal, if you ask me.” Stark backed away from the approaching leopard.

“Well no one did ask you, did they?” Coulson glared, his eyes darting back to the leopard as he started to hum Baby’s favorite tune. But this time, it had a peculiar effect. Instead of calming Baby, it caused him to retreat into the shrubbery with a bone-rattling roar.

“Well, that’s odd. Honestly, Uncle Phil, Baby is usually much better behaved.” Jemma dropped back to the ground and Lola scampered off to follow the leopard, seeming to have made a new friend. Fitz slumped against a tree.

“Oh, great, there goes my only way of finding Sneezy, about to be a leopard’s midnight snack.” Fitz scowled as Coulson shot him a glare before he and Stark took off after the dog.

Just then, a band of men with large harnesses and nets appeared. Dressed in all black, Fitz could only describe their leader as an Adonis. Jemma pushed Fitz back into the shadows of the overgrown trees.

“It couldn’t have gone far, you heard that roar as well as I did.” The Adonis pointed back at his mates. “No mistaking it, that’s our ferocious beast alright. We need to find him, and find him quick before the boss thinks we can’t do a simple job.”

“I don’t know, Ward. I’m not really looking to get my head snapped off by the likes of a wild animal.” A man with an Australian accent piped up from the back of the cluster.

“If Malick hears we let this leopard go, you’ll get your head snapped off just the same. It’s no difference to him—he can find a replacement for you just like that.” The Adonis Fitz now knew was named Ward snapped his fingers before drawing a menacing line against his throat like some old timey gangster. “Lose one head, grow another.”

“You got one screw loose, you know that Ward?” A scrawny kid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jemma pressed closer to Fitz, her breath hot on his cheek. “They must be with Animal Control. We can’t let them catch Baby.”

Then, without waiting for Fitz to voice any concern, she took off into the bushes. Muttering his protests, he took after her.

Twenty minutes later, they happened upon the same Animal Control troupe, but this time it was clear he and Jemma were too late. In the back of their truck stood a rather confused leopard.

“Oh, Fitz, we have to do something!” Jemma tugged at his sleeve, drawing him closer to the truck. Ward and his men were distracted, arguing over who got to call the boss and tell him the job was done. Fitz glanced back over at Jemma who had now pulled herself up onto the back of the truck to unlatch the large deadbolt.

“Hey!” Ward spotted her and started to grab for her but Fitz managed to knock him out of the way. The back door of the truck flew open in the commotion with Jemma still holding on. 

“Jemma! Sweet, dear, Jemma!” Fitz shouted, the implication of his words barely registered to his own ears as he frantically moved to help her.

She spun out with a startled cry and Fitz tried to grasp her around the waist but the big dumb Adonis lunged for him. Fitz grabbed the first thing he could reach inside the bed of the truck—a club. With a couple sharp swings, he had the brute on the ground. The rest of his gang fell back, as if sensing he was a man pushed too far.

“See, that Arnis training with May really paid off!” Jemma grinned, still swinging from the truck door. Seizing an opportunity, the leopard jumped down and sauntered over to a patch of grass where he curled up like a kitten and fell asleep.

“Wait a minute,” Ward pushed himself up on one arm. “That’s not my leopard—my leopard mauled a guy. That thing’s purring.”

“ _Your_ leopard? There’s more than one out here?” Fitz's dropped the club.

“Yeah, we’re with Hydra Circus. Set up camp in the next town over but the leopard had to go. He got loose during transport and, well, here we are.”

“So if that’s definitely not your leopard, then that means…” Fitz remembered the snarling creature that had bolted into the bushes. Before he could say anything, the man-mauling leopard appeared, and this time he seemed even angrier than before.

Without delay, Fitz scrambled up into the back of the truck, grabbed Jemma by her waist and pulled the door shut. Reaching his arm through the grate, he shoved the deadbolt back into place as Ward and his team ran screaming into the forest.

“My hero,” Jemma beamed, her arms wrapped around him as the two slouched down to the floor of the truck bed. Fitz could only whimper and pull her closer.


	4. Epilogue

**** Monday morning, Jemma was nearly knocked down by a woman with impeccable posture and a fierce scowl as she approached the double doors to Radcliffe Labs. The woman was too furious to notice or offer an apology. Jemma was certain she heard the woman muttering about a former fiancé being nothing more than a butterfly.  She wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, other than this was most likely Fitz’s Callie. Or, Fitz’s  _ ex _ -Callie, as it seemed. 

Turning to watch the woman storm down the hall, her high heels creating an angry cacophony against the freshly waxed linoleum, Jemma felt hope bloom in her chest. She and Fitz had spent an hour locked in the back of the Hydra truck before her uncle and Tony Stark reappeared, assuring them the coast was clear. After that, Fitz had bolted back to the city claiming there were things he needed to take care of. Jemma hadn’t heard from him since and had spent all of Sunday devising a reason to visit the lab. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, tucked her large bag under her arm, and pushed open the doors.

Initially, the lab appeared empty. Not a Fitz in sight. But Jemma could hear someone faintly humming the chorus of Baby’s favorite tune and it sounded as if it was coming from the rafters. She took a closer look. Squinting against the dim light, she spotted Fitz sitting on top of one of two tall metal ladders that were sandwiched across the middle of a giant robotic dinosaur. He was swinging his feet rather precariously and looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It was the most relaxed Jemma had seen him since they met.

“Hello up there!” She cupped her hand against her mouth for extra volume. Fitz startled and turned, gripping onto the sides of the now wobbling ladder with a shout. Jemma took a step closer, sighing with relief once the ladder settled back down against the brontosaurus. “Oh, darling! I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, Jemma, I’m perfectly fine.” Fitz waved, a slight grimace on his face as the ladder gave one last wobble. “Wait—Did you call me  _ darling _ ?”

Jemma hadn’t intended to let that slip—not until she was sure her affections were returned—but in the moment, it couldn’t be helped. Deciding to pretend she hadn’t heard his question, she pulled a large box from her shoulder bag.

“I have a surprise for you.” She bit her lip, holding back a grin.

“A good surprise, or a Jemma Simmons surprise?” Fitz peeked over the robot cautiously.

“Hey! I’ll have you know all Jemma Simmons surprises are good surprises.”

“And I’ll have  _ you _ know I have two days’ experience telling me otherwise.”

“OK, be that way.” She made to shove the box back into her bag. He was lucky she found his sour moods adorable—most of the time.

“Wait, wait.” He leaned to get a better look at her. “What’s the surprise?”

She held it up for him to see. “What do you think it could be, Dr. Fitz?”

“Sneezy? You found him!” He grinned, swaying back and forth ever so slightly. “But how?”

“Oh, I followed Lola around all of yesterday and she eventually led me to it.” She sat both the box and her bag down on a nearby bench and began to climb up the other ladder. “I’ve now insisted Uncle Phil keep her on a leash at all times, and in return, he’s insisted I ‘return-to-sender’ any of Lance’s thoughtful gifts that are larger than a breadbox or that snarl. I decided that’s only fair.”

“Oh, do be careful on the ladder, Jemma,” Fitz winced as she continued to climb. “Speaking of gifts, how  _ is _ Baby?”

“Relaxing at the reserve. It turns out Baby isn’t a  _ he _ , so much as a  _ she _ —and I’m not sure who will have kittens first: Baby or Koenig. My uncle is ready to disinherit Lance the moment he sets foot back in the States for dropping an expectant leopard on his doorstep.”

“Ah, I see. That certainly expands the leopard population at your reserve.”  Fitz watched with caution as she climbed to the top most rung in order to reach him better. She wobbled a bit and he made to steady her before dropping his hand back down.

“But I didn’t come here to talk to you about my leopard.” Jemma suddenly felt rather shy but the slight gleam in Fitz’s eye as he looked at her renewed the hope she'd had when witnessing his fiancée storm off.

“Oh?” He rested his hand on the dinosaur’s metal plated back, as if with a keen interest.

“First—are you engaged?” It was best to be blunt.

“Not at the moment.” He seemed to inch closer—if that was even possible in such a precarious position.

“Oh, that's good.” She sighed with relief and smiled. “Second, I have some very important news regarding the SHIELD HQ grants.”

“Hmm?” He shifted and she was almost certain he wasn’t paying attention to her words so much as staring at the slope of her cheek, at the curve of her ear.

“Yes, you see, the grants have all been distributed—”

That seemed to snap him from his daze and he leaned back onto his heels with a resigned sigh.

“Except for one. Which my uncle has given to me to do with as I see fit.” She continued onward, speaking in one fast rush as he continued to stare at her. She could tell he had no idea what she would say next. “And so I’ve decided to fund my own lab—”

“Jemma, I’m not sure if it’s the high altitude or this conversation that’s triggering my vertigo, but my head is starting to spin.”

“—And I was hoping you would join me at the lab as a co-director. We could run it together. And honestly, Fitz, we aren’t  _ that  _ high up.”

He stopped and stared at her, mouth dropping open. 

“What did you say?”

“I said we aren’t  _ that  _ high up.”

“No, about the lab. You want to start a lab… with  _ me _ ?”

She nodded, worrying her teeth along her bottom lip. “What do you think of FitzSimmons Research?”

“FitzSim—I get top billing?” He gave her a crooked grin, his eyes warm with affection.

“I like to think of it as  _ equal  _ billing. It’s only fair, since the children would be Fitz-Simmons. It has a nice ring to it.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought them through and she stopped short.

“Children?” He echoed, but to Jemma’s relief there wasn’t a note of panic in his voice so much as surprise, and maybe a touch of awe.

“Yes,” Jemma tucked her head down shyly before pulling herself back together. She was beginning to feel butterflies churn in her stomach—and Jemma Simmons wasn’t prone to such feelings. She took a steadying breath before she continued. “You see I realized something, Dr. Fitz.”

“Oh? What’s that?” He smiled, his gaze falling to her lips before looking back up. That small look from him settled her nerves and she felt a wave of contentment wash through her.

“I realized I love you.” Her cheeks hurt with the joy she couldn’t hold inside as he reached over the dinosaur and took her hands in his.

“Well, that’s rather convenient, Dr.  _ Dr.  _ Simmons, since I realized I love you, too.” He pulled her closer, his lips millimeters from hers…

“Actually,” she interrupted, “I'd prefer Dr.  _ Dr.  _ Fitz-Simmons.”

He chuckled before drawing his lips against hers in a sweet caress. Below them, several metal plates, the tail, and the hinged jaw all collapsed under the joint weight of the two ladders. Serenely, the couple leaned back from their embrace and watched as the pieces fell.

“Well,” Fitz shrugged, “that’ll make things easier to move to our lab.”

And then, with a pleased smile, he kissed her again.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A long time ago, I specialized in Hollywood golden era cinema, so it was a blast to take on this 1930s classic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. (I feel like I should add that things really do wrap up that quickly in the movie.)


End file.
